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19.1.12

Unmentionables I wouldn't like to mention

Hi all, today I'll be blogging about underwear. But, before we come to that, I'll do some totally shameless, self-promotional begging: Please, please, please head over to Dawn's Reading Nook, where the Subspace anthology (with my story "The Accidental Sub" in it) is up for Best Anthology Book of 2011. Of course, you should vote for the best anthology, but if you could find it in you to actually like the Subspace anthology, your help would be very much appreciated.

And now, for today's scientific discussion of underwear: Would you wear sexy lingerie that you found atrocious if your partner wanted you to?

Let’s assume for a moment that you had something like the following conversation with your significant other:

You: I saw this really nice set of undies the other day and I’m wondering if I should buy them.

Your partner: Oh really, what did they look like? Were they sexy?

You: I’m not sure if you would find them sexy. They were kind of retro and very cute, I think.

Your partner: Lacy?

You: No.

Your partner: Hm, see-through?

You: No.

Your partner: Okay, push-up or corset?

You: No.

Your partner: Hm.

You: Is that your definition of sexy? Push-up and see-through?

Your partner: Er…

You: Red and black with lots of lace?

Your partner: Er… Yes?

You: Oh. Okay.

Of course this dialogue is entirely fictional. No, really.

It kind of got me thinking, though, about my own taste in underwear. And what I would write my heroes and heroines in. I usually like basic undies for everyday use (usually black). I also like lace for special occasions. But it still needs to be tasteful, so probably black or dark red lace. White? Not so much – it’s too bridal (unless it's on a bride, of course). I love retro stuff with corsets and stockings, although I’m not good at wearing the latter myself without instantly destroying them. And I can totally see the appeal of leather and latex in certain contexts.
I kind of seem to draw the line at animal prints. And I hate pink. I hate it from the bottom of my heart. But that’s just me, I guess.The rest of the world seems to like it.

Here are a few examples of undies that I would never ever wear or write about:

What is worse than animal prints? Animal prints combined with pink lace. Yay!

And here’s the male equivalent, I guess:

What's with the pink tip? And what happened to the backside? This one gave me the giggles (a total disaster, in the sexy underwear department):

So, where would you draw the line? And what kind of underwear do you find sexy? Let me know in the comments!

Catherine was ready and waiting just inside the wood-framed glass doors to her office building at three minutes to eight. She stared at her wristwatch, counting the seconds. She had double-checked it against the BBC news for the umpteenth time half an hour ago and was quite sure it was accurate now. She hadn’t been able to concentrate on work at all today, hypnotised by the slow-moving hands of the wall clock when she wasn’t daydreaming about what was going to happen tonight. At one point she had found herself typing the word ‘butt plug’ instead of ‘buttress’ into her summary of a serious and urgent environmental report on tsunami countermeasures. Sheesh!

Sighing, she pulled down the way-too-short black leather miniskirt she had bought at a fetish store near King’s Cross Station on her lunch break along with a medium-sized silicone butt plug. A delicious frisson of arousal had crept up her spine as she carried these items back to the office in a thin, black plastic bag. What if her colleagues found out what she was up to?

She had inserted the butt plug in the ladies’ room after lunch but left the miniskirt for later. This really wasn’t her kind of outfit. It showed off too much of her substantial thighs, and she was afraid that someone might notice she wasn’t wearing panties. Of course, this possibility also made her really hot and the constant pressure of the butt plug heightened her arousal.

The top was a disaster in itself. While she tried to keep the soft cowl neck pulled up, it slipped with every movement she made and her breasts were constantly in danger of popping out of the skimpy garment. She had been wearing the top to work today and had only realised it was a dangerous choice when she had taken off the bra and the long-sleeved red T-shirt she had worn underneath.

One minute to go. She checked her makeup in her pocket mirror, then had to readjust her top again. Thirty seconds. She peeked out through the glass doors but couldn’t see much of the street. At eight o’clock sharp a black Saab convertible pulled up to the kerb, just as she stepped out of the building. The roof was closed so she couldn’t see the driver, but the passenger door was opened for her from the inside and she didn’t hesitate to get into the car.

He looked, even more handsome than she remembered, in black jeans and a tight black T-shirt that fitted his broad, muscular upper body to perfection. His short brown hair was combed back, and a pair of black Ray Bans dangled from the neckline of his T-shirt. He was definitely gorgeous enough to eat, and Catherine had a strong compulsion to lick his body from head to toe.

He said, “Good evening, Catherine.” His deep voice went straight to her G-spot and her knees went weak.

She risked another brief glance at him and whispered a shy ‘Hello’, before turning to fasten her seatbelt. Suppressing the insane urge to throw herself at his feet and beg him to take her right here in the car, she meekly folded her hands in her lap and stared at the floor. He started the engine and pulled away from the kerb. Catherine didn’t dare ask him where they were going. She felt completely at his mercy, and a delightful shiver of anticipation ran through her body.

“Put your hands behind your back,” he ordered as they stopped at a traffic light. A feeling of calm spread slowly through Catherine’s whole body. It was such a relief to cede responsibility to him. She wriggled forward in the seat and clasped her wrists behind the small of her back. No longer self-conscious about how she looked, she attuned herself to his wishes, anticipating the pleasure of his touch.

He took one hand off the wheel and reached over to pull her cowl neck down below her waist and expose both breasts. He gave an appreciative ‘Hmm’ when her nipples hardened in the cool evening air. He slipped his hand between her legs, nudging her thighs apart as far as they would go in the short skirt. “I like the outfit,” he commented and slipped one long finger into her, then ran it through her folds to spread the moisture. “Hmm,” he rumbled again. His hand slipped lower and his probing fingers found the butt plug. “Very nice.”

He tapped the end lightly, sending shivers of dark delight up Catherine’s spine. She imagined him taking her from behind, fucking first her pussy and then her arsehole. The vivid mental images made her so wet she was sure she would leave a puddle on the seat.

The light turned green and he took his hand away abruptly to put it back on the steering wheel. Catherine felt strangely bereft without his touch. She clenched her mouth shut around a tiny whimper of frustration.